


Sick

by SpinningLenny



Series: Vir Atish'an - The Way of Peace [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-04
Updated: 2015-12-04
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:05:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpinningLenny/pseuds/SpinningLenny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Inquisitor is sick and Cullen does his best to take care of her, whether she admits she likes it or not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sick

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the following prompts: "Caring for the other while sick" and "Playing with the other's hair"

Cullen nudged the door closed with his foot as he surveyed the room. The bed was empty, save for a heap of crumpled blankets. So was the couch and the chair at the desk. He frowned as he approached the bed to put down the heavily laden tray in his hands. The guards should have notified him when she left. If they had missed her disappearance, he’d have to—

His thoughts stopped when he heard a weak coughing sound coming from the bed. On closer inspection, it appeared that the mess of blankets might be just big enough to conceal a curled up and miserable elf.

"Are you awake?“ he murmured softly enough so as not to wake her. For a moment everything was silent, and Cullen hoped that she was indeed asleep. That hope didn’t last long.

"Do I have a choice?"

Not asleep, but at least feeling well enough to whinge. Cullen decided to count that as a win. He put down the tray next to the bed.

"I brought you something to eat, if you’re hungry."

The blankets shifted in a way that might possibly allow one eye to peek out at his offering.

"How many people did you expect me to be?"

"I’m sorry?"

"I could feed half the clan with that banquet."

"I wasn’t certain what you might feel like, so I brought a little of everything."

"Is there bloodwurst?"

Cullen hesitated. He had been sure that in her current predicament she’d be especially averse to his favourite breakfast meat, but evidently he’d been wrong.

"I’m afraid not, but—"

"Good."

The blankets settled back into an impenetrable cocoon. Cullen waited several moments before he asked, "Are you going to eat anything?"

"No."

"Is there anything else I can do?"

"Cut off my head and put me out of my misery?"

"I’m afraid that’s not an option right now."

He paused again, but all he got in reply was another pathetic coughing fit.

"Well then. I’m afraid I have to leave now, but I shall be back soon."

"Yes, just go. I’ll try not to die while you’re gone."

"I appreciate it."

Cullen thought he heard a low grumble in reply but didn’t stop to clarify. He had arrangements to make.

 

***********

 

Less than an hour later, Cullen entered the Inquisitor’s quarters once more, this time laden with several dozen parchments of various kinds and purposes. He deposited them on Felexa’s writing desk, then approached the bed again. The mound of blankets appeared undisturbed, so he kept his voice low.

"Did you drink anything?"

"No."

Cullen suppressed a sigh and wondered idly how someone who could be endlessly patient and compassionate as a healer would turn into, well, this when she was sick herself. Still, he kept his voice calm and encouraging.

"The Surgeon said you should drink a lot of water."

"So?"

" _So_?"

"She puts _leeches_ on people."

"You put _maggots_ on people."

"That's different."

At least he was engaging her in a conversation. ’Try to distract her if you can’ had been part of his orders, and he’d do his best to comply.

"How so?"

"First, because the maggots actually help. Second, I can't believe you're debating healing techniques with me while I'm on my deathbed."

"Felexa. You have a _cold_."

"Yes, but what if it doesn't get better? What if it gets worse and goes down into my lungs? What if I get wet lung fever and _die_? Have you thought about that?"

He had, in fact, thought about this and several equally gruesome scenarios, but had been reassured by his fellow advisors as well as a number of healers that he should not waste his time with such overblown concerns. And especially not raise them with the Inquisitor herself. Thus all he said was a decisive "No."

For a moment there was silence, then with what sounded like a rather spectacular pout Felexa replied, "Well, maybe you _should_."

The hallmark of a good strategist was knowing when to retreat, so Cullen merely shook his head and settled down at the writing desk. Reached for the pile that was marked as both urgent and important and threw himself into the Interminable Battle of the Relentless Paperwork.

He had signed off on three requisition forms and was about to deny a fourth one when Felexa spoke again.

"Why are you still here?"

Cullen hesitated, quill hovering above the parchment. Everyone had assured him she would appreciate his presence, but maybe he was pushing too far? He had only spent a handful of nights in her quarters after all, which hardly gave him the right to impose himself on her.

"Do you wish me to leave?"

"No, but I'm sure you have more important things to do than listen to me being grumpy and unlikeable."

Of course she'd be more worried about his duties than her own comfort. Luckily Cullen was able to reassure her.

"I rescheduled the training exercises and brought some reports with me so I could stay with you."

Judging from her silence that the explanation satisfied her, Cullen turned back to his work. He had almost finished marking up another requisition when she said softly, "You really should leave, though."

Cullen was reasonably certain that if she had wanted him to go, she'd have said so. Which meant that something else was troubling her.

"I thought you enjoyed my company?"

She sighed with just a hint of impatience.

"Of course I do, but you won't enjoy mine. I'm a horrible patient. I get whiny and annoying and generally detestable."

Cullen kept his voice carefully neutral when he replied, "I hadn't noticed."

"You're a bad liar, Cullen Rutherford."

"But at least I'm making an effort?"

She was silent for a moment, then grumbled, "But at least you're making an effort."

That seemed to settle the matter. Another requisition, then the duty roster for the next five days, then a report on three soldiers caught in indecent circumstances behind the smithy. He was almost ready to move on the the pile of important but not urgent when he was interrupted again.

"Cullen?"

"Yes?"

"I don't like being sick."

He tried to come up with an appropriately empathetic but not too condescending reply and finally settled on, "Would you like something to drink?"

"Does it have alcohol in it?"

He had started moving towards the bed, but her words made him pause.

"Would that help your cold?"

"No, but I wouldn't be so cranky anymore."

Which was a valid point, but still.

"No alcohol, I'm afraid."

"And here I thought you loved me."

Cullen suppressed a sigh as he surveyed the supplies he had been armed with.

"There are a number of healing potions I can offer you."

"Do I even want to ask?"

"One is from Vivienne."

"No."

"This one from the Surgeon."

"Definitely no."

"And one from Dagna."

"Are you kidding me?"

"You've always encouraged her to experiment."

"But not on _me_. If I drink that, I'll probably start glowing in the dark. And sneezing bees, if Sera was involved."

"Just some water, then?"

"If you insist."

The blankets started shifting, and he finished filling her mug just in time to see Felexa emerge. She squinted against the light, face pale save for brightly burning cheeks, unkempt strands of hair sticking to her sweaty skin. When he sat down next to her, Cullen felt the heat of fever rolling off her body. The only thing that kept him from rushing out and dragging every healer in Skyhold into her room was the fierce reminder to himself that it was rather common for elves to suffer short but intense bouts of illness where a human might have felt merely indisposed for a week or longer. It had already scared him more than once when he'd witnessed elven mages taking ill in the Circle, but to see the woman he loved afflicted this way made his throat tighten in quiet dread.

Still, his task was to be supportive and encouraging, so he helped Felexa sit up until she could lean against him. He saw the tremor in her hands, but she took hold of the drink without spilling a drop. He had expected her to take no more than a sip or two, but instead she drained the mug and two more after it. Then she let her head fall against his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"You're really good to me, you know that?"

Cullen wrapped his arms around her and swallowed past the tightness in his throat.

"I try to be."

"I mean it, though. You don't have to stay. I'll be fine."

Which meant that she dearly wanted him to stay, but needed to be convinced to allow herself the indulgence. Cullen tried his best to put his feelings into words, but as usual they were barely adequate.

"I wish to be here. When you are away from the Keep, I always... I rarely get the chance to be by your side when you truly need support. Please allow me this."

She sighed, and he thought he saw the faintest trace of a smile around her lips.

"All right."

She shifted against him and Cullen wished he had taken off his armour so she could be more comfortable.

"Do you think you can get some sleep?"

"I should try, shouldn't I?"

"In the absence of alcohol, it would be the best way to make you more comfortable, yes."

This time she actually smiled, and Cullen felt inordinately proud of himself.

"It's worth a try, I suppose."

He helped her back down and arranged the blankets around her. When he had finished, she opened her mouth as though to ask for something, then closed it again with a frown.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

"Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?"

"It's not--I know you have a lot to do but... Cuddle with me? Just for a few minutes, until I'm asleep?"

"Of course. Anything you wish."

He stripped off his armour and boots, then quickly slipped under the blankets beside her. And had to take a deep breath when the shock hit him.

"Maker's breath, you're _hot_!"

She wriggled against him.

"You're not too bad yourself, handsome."

"I meant you are feverish."

"Just feels that way because you're freezing. But it's all right, you can warm up on me."

She twined her limbs around him until it felt as though every part of his body was wrapped in seeping, smouldering heat. Cullen told himself that it wasn't that bad. Took deep and slow breaths. Though of snow capped mountains, frozen lakes and howling blizzards even as he felt his skin beading with sweat. When he tried to get some space between then, she only grasped him tighter until he could barely breathe.

"Forgive me, but I need to move."

"But it feels so nice."

"Felexa. I am _dying_. Of heatstroke."

"We can die together. It's romantic. Cassandra would approve."

But this time when he tried to move, she released her hold and let him retreat. Cullen threw back the blankets and sighed in relief as the cool air embraced his body.

Felexa's eyes stayed closed as he tucked her back in and settled against the headboard, but he could tell from her breathing that she was still awake. He stroked the damp hair back from her face, which earned him a soft noise of contentment. Grateful that at least this was a comfort he could offer, Cullen started carding his fingers through the matted strands, untangling knots and massaging her scalp along the way.

"How does that feel?"

"Wonderful."

He kept going, watching her face relax by degrees, but still she seemed restless.

"Is there anything else I can do?"

She hesitated for a moment, then asked, "Sing to me?"

Now this he hadn't expected.

"Are you, ah, are you certain that is what you wish?"

"Deshanna always used to sing to me when I was sick. She said it aids the spirit in healing the body, but I think she just wanted me to stop whining and go to sleep."

"You do realise that my knowledge of Dalish songs is rather limited."

"Doesn't matter. I just want to hear your voice."

"Really?"

"Yes. I like your voice. 'S very nice. Please?"

"All right."

For a moment Cullen's mind turned blank, but then he remembered the old lullaby his mother and sometimes Mia used to sing to him and his younger siblings when they were ill. He knew it had been handed down in the Rutherford family for generations, and the thought of singing it to Felexa now made his chest tighten with yearning for things he rarely allowed himself to contemplate. Felexa made a questioning noise and he decided to allow himself this small indulgence.

_"Hush, my darling, close your eyes_

_"And rest till in the morn you rise_

_"Lay down your head and find your sleep_

_"While over you a watch I’ll keep…"_

The words came almost by themselves, and as his voice grew steady, he felt Felexa's breathing slow down into an even rhythm. He almost thought her asleep when a hand so hot it seemed to scorch his skin covered his own.

"Thank you for being here," she mumbled, the words barely recognizeable with drowsiness.

"Of course," he murmured, unsure whether she still heard him but hoping she would recognize the truth in his words. "I wouldn't wish to be anywhere else."

 

 

 


End file.
